I had never fully grasped how deeply my mother’s feelings of resentment and hatred toward me ran. It was a painful realization that, even in death, my existence seemed to be an inconvenience and a source of discomfort rather than something mourned or missed. My mother’s immediate reaction—angry and dismissive—made it clear that my death was a mere disruption to her life, more an annoyance than a tragedy.
Even though a soul can't really feel physical pain, I couldn’t shake the deep bitterness I felt. It was like a heavy weight inside me. I never realized just how much my mother’s disdain for me had grown. I always knew there was tension, but this was something else entirely.
My life and death seemed totally irrelevant compared to the big deal that was Abigail’s daughter’s first birthday party. To them, my existence was just a nuisance. The idea that my death might mess up Abigail’s big day was so disheartening. My mother wasn’t even interested in checking if the body was really mine, just brushing it off because it might bring bad luck. It showed how little my life meant to them.